


Speak To Me

by queenofthepuddingbrains



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Conversation They Should Have Had 6 Years Ago, Boy Melodrama, Brotherly Affection, Episode Tag, Episode: s11e20 Don't Call Me Shurley, Gen, POV Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester-centric, Samulet, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthepuddingbrains/pseuds/queenofthepuddingbrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean process the different implications of Chuck's sudden return.  As for the sudden reappearance of another item, Dean wonders where it came from.  Will he let himself ask?  And, more importantly, will he stick around for the whole answer, or will he duck out on the BM scene entirely?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 11X20 "Don't Call Me Shurley"
> 
> Rated T for realistic use of language
> 
> I'm a little late getting this up, so this may have already been done a thousand times. But, I hope some of you may still find it interesting. Regardless, my head demanded it, and you know the show won't give it to us.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Dean hissed through clenched teeth, rifling one handed through the Bunker’s freezer.

“Well, what did you expect, Dean?”  Sam’s voice echoed across the kitchen, and even with his head half buried in the freezer, Dean knew his brother was sporting one hell of a bitch face.  “You punched God!”

“Damn right I did,” Dean grumbled proudly, turning back around with an ice pack clutched loosely between his fingers.  He winced slightly as he brought it to rest on the back of his other hand, where the knuckles where mottled and swollen.  “Totally worth it. ‘We should probably talk’, he sneered. “Yeah. Ya fucking think?  Douchebag.”

A sudden snort of laughter, tinged just this side of delirious, drew Dean’s attention back to Sam.  “Got something to say there, Sammy?”

Sam waved his hand in Dean’s direction.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just...  You punched God, Dean.  You _punched_ God.  You punched _God._   Who is Chuck.  Chuck is God.  Weird, wears-a-bathrobe, alcoholic _Chuck_!  Chuck! Who always seemed like he was afraid of his own shadow.  Chuck! Who – ”

Throughout the entirety of this semi-meltdown, Sam had been frantically pacing the kitchen, giant moose limps and hair flapping in agitation.  But, suddenly, he stopped stock still facing Dean.  And when he spoke again, his voice was quiet, tinged with some odd combination of horror and awe.

“Chuck…who dated Becky Rosen.  _Dean_.  God and I have the same ex.  _What the fuck are our lives?_ ”

Sam and Dean stared at each other in dead silence for approximately 1.7 seconds before they both just broke down.  For a solid 10 minutes, the halls of the Bunker echoed with the sounds of their laughter.  Deep, warm, belly laughs rolled through the utilitarian spaces, chasing shadows away.  Whenever one of them started to get himself under control, they would catch the other’s eyes and they’d double over in mirth again.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , Sam,” Dean grinned, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes with the back of his uninjured hand.

“Oh, don’t tell me we’ve already met him too,” Sam threw back, smiling more genuinely than Dean had seen in years.  “Who was it, Garth?”

(That set them off for another 5 minutes.)

“You’re right though,” Dean said, next time they managed to catch their breath, “I’ll give the guy this.  Chuck really was a perfect way to hide.  No one woulda ever picked that guy out as God.”

“But he _is_ ,” Sam asserted, levity abruptly flowing out of his tone and awe creeping in.  “He’s God, Dean.  And, after everything, He’s here.  He finally _showed up_.”

And, shit.  Dean knew that look.  It was the look Sammy got when he was about to put his entire stupid Sasquatch heart into believing in something or someone.  And, with their crappy lives, it was almost always followed by the look he got when said something or someone disappointed him.  Dean _hated_ that look.  More than witches and Jefferson Starship combined.

Dean cleared his throat gruffly, already bracing himself for the warmth of the last few minutes to disappear.  “Well, yeah, Sammy.  But, uh, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, y’know.  Sure he showed up today, _at the last freakin’ possible minute_.  But—“

“But _what_ , Dean?”  Sam’s chin came up and his eyes narrowed, as Dean had known they would.  “Look, I’m not saying all our problems are suddenly solved are anything.  I know life’s not that simple.  Especially not our life.  It’s not like Chuck showing up is just some deus ex machina dropping into our lap.”

“Dudes Eggs What Now?” Dean’s attempt at a joke was promptly rejected by Sam’s ‘Don’t pretend to be an idiot to placate me, Dean’™ bitch face.

“ _All_ I’m saying,” Sam continued, “is that Chuck wouldn’t have decided to finally blow his cover just to help us out with that one case, right?  And he did say he wanted to talk about the Amara situation.”

It was true, Dean had to concede.  After the spiritually satisfyingly but carpally punishing right to Chuck’s face, the deadbeat deity had mojoed them (and Baby, lucky for him; Dude didn’t need any more entries on Dean’s shit list) back to the Bunker and left with a brief “Maybe you need a little time to take this all in.  I’ll come back for that talk tomorrow.” 

“So, maybe we could just try and believe that Chuck is going to be able to help, at least a little?” Sam pleaded.  “With Amara?  With getting Cas back?  With all of it?  With _any_ of it?” 

By now all of the irritation had left Sam’s face, and all that was left was that ridiculous sense of hope or faith or whatever it was that 30 years’ worth of living their lives had never been able to quite steal from Dean’s little brother.  Dean had never really been able to understand it, but God, er, Chuck help him if he’d ever stop trying to protect it. 

“Sure, Sammy,” Dean conceded with a half-smile.  “I’m sure he will.”

The gratefulness of Sam’s answering smile was reward enough for “losing” the argument. 

And, you know what, fuck it.  All in all, it had been a good day.  By Winchester standards, it’s been a fan-fucking-tastic day:  Everyone in town somehow managed to survive the fog (With a sudden stab of pain so sharp it nearly took his breath away, Dean heard Charlie’s voice shout jovially in his mind: _“Just this once, Rose, everybody lives!”_ ) _and_ Dean’s gotten more time tonight just cutting up with Sammy without a case popping up to interrupt than he has in _years_. Dean decided right then and there that cynicism and necessity and the real world could damn well wait until tomorrow.  Today was still a day for miracles.

Speaking of which…Dean looked down once more at his injured hand, still clenched in a fist, just like it had been ever since he clocked Chuck.  But his focus wasn’t on the bruises or the now thawed ice pack, which he moved to set down on the kitchen counter.  Instead, it was on the piece of thong cording trailing out from within his clutched hand.

Slowly, Dean turned his hand over so that it was palm side up and uncurled his fingers to reveal the amulet lying in his palm.  He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  Part of him still couldn’t believe it was right there after all these years.  It looked just the way it had the last time he had held it like this, right before Dean dropped it in the trash can at that motel, back when they were facing impossible odds to save the world for the first time.  You know, the good old days.

“It’s funny,” Dean began, still staring at the amulet, drawing Sam’s attention to it as well, “If Chuck had decided to make his grand re-entrance, why not just show up in a blaze of glory right in front of us?  Why dig this thing out from whatever landfill it was in to lead us to him?  For that matter, why’d he drop it in your pocket, instead of mine?  You’d think a return-to-sender deal would be easier, and the guy doesn’t seem like the type to go the extra mile all that often.”

As he started asking the questions, Dean resolutely kept his gaze on the amulet, avoiding his brother’s gaze, although he did bring his other hand up to his cupped palm, absent-mindedly tracing the design of the charm with his index finger.  Dean wasn’t sure why he was even asking.  Normally he wouldn’t get near a conversation like this with a ten-foot pole.  But, back in the Sheriff’s Department, when that glow had first started coming from Sam’s pocket…when he first fished the amulet out and realized what he was holding…Well, he had thought, for just a second… 

But, that was stupid, right?   It made a lot more sense that Chuck had just poofed the necklace in where he needed it to be for them to find it.  Right?  That’s the logical explanation.  After all, after everything, why would Sammy ever—    

“It was already in my pocket.” 

At Sam’s slightly hesitant voice, Dean’s head snapped up.  Sam’s eyes searched his for a second, and then he seemed to come to a decision, squaring his shoulders, taking a deep breath, and carrying on in a more steady voice.

“Chuck didn’t put the amulet anywhere.  I mean, yeah, it started to glow because He showed up, but I already had it in my pocket.  I have ever since you threw it out.”

“What?”  Dean sputtered incredulously.  “You’re telling me you pulled it out of the trash?  And you, what?  You’ve just been carrying it around for _6 years_?”

Sam nodded.

And, Red Alert!  Dean definitely should have followed S.O.P. and left this alone.  He turned away and retreated a few steps to brace himself against the kitchen counter.  The amulet was still in his hand, and the bite where the charm was pressed between his palm and the cool of the counter-top was somewhat grounding.  Enough that he was able to squeeze his eyes shut against the urge to run and ask, voice only slightly strangled:

_“Why?”_

Dean could hear Sam sigh deeply, and he knew that his brother was probably running his fingers through his hair as he tried to formulate his thoughts.  Finally:

“Because it didn’t belong there.” Sam claimed emphatically.  “When Cas gave the amulet back to you, he said that if it couldn’t find God then it was worthless.  But that…That was never why it mattered to you…to us.”

Another deep breath and Sam continued, speaking quickly, as if he’d been waiting years for the chance.

“Look, Dean.  I know what you saw on the Axis Mundi all those years ago hurt you.  And I never really got a chance to say I was sorry.  And I am!  Because _of course_ I have a ton of good memories with you in them too and they mean just as much!  And I don’t know why they weren’t there, but you’ve gotta believe me…”

“Alright Sammy, that’s enough.  C’mon,” Dean chuckled weakly.  “S’ancient history anyway.  Shouldn’t have brought it up.”  As he spoke, Dean straightened up and began to try and sidle sideways out of the kitchen and to the safety of his bedroom.

“No!” Sam shouted, moving to block Dean’s path, hands held up in front of him as if he was trying to calm a wild animal.  “Please, Dean.  I know.  I know, you hate this.  Just, please let me say it, ok?  You don’t have to say anything afterwards.  Just listen.  _Please._ ”

And, shit.  Those were the full blown puppy eyes.  Trembling chin, tear filled eyes, the works.  Dean was helpless against them when Sammy was 4.  The passage of 30 years still hadn’t given him any immunity.

Dean stopped.  Gritted his teeth and nodded.  He clenched down on the amulet in his fist again, focusing on corners of the shape in hand to keep him from panicking as Sam stood across from him and prepared to get all sappy and sentimental.  Somewhere in the back of his mind Marie rambled on about B(oy) M(elodrama) scenes, and Dean had to fight the urge to laugh.  “Fine,” he spat instead, “2 minutes.” 

Sam nodded enthusiastically.  “Yeah, yeah.  Sure.  Okay.  Yeah.  Okay.  So, I have this problem.  Well,” he gave a humorless laugh, “I have lots of them.  But, I’ve always been obsessed with the normal life thing.  And our lives are so _not normal_.  And I thought that if I could just get my life to look normal, then I would be happy.  So that’s what I tried to do.  I tried to make my life match this picture I had in my head.  This picture that everyone else seemed to have.  And, somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that the things that didn’t fit into that picture just didn’t count for some reason.  Which is so stupid.  Because, yeah, maybe my picture didn’t look the way I thought it was supposed to.  And, you know, there was the part where it had monsters in it.”  Sam paused for a genuine laugh at that one.  “But there were some good pieces to it to.  It had _you_ in it.”

“My life always had you in it, Dean.  Even when I was away at school, I knew you’d be there if I needed you.  Even when I was busy trying to convince myself and the rest of the world that I was someone completely different, some part of me knew that you and I would always be _us,_ you know?”

Sam paused for a second, and searched Dean’s eyes for a long moment to see if he was still with him.  The two minutes were up, but Dean decided not to call him on it yet.

“When I was a kid, I had to worry about a lot of things I shouldn’t have had to.  But I never worried whether we’d be okay or not.  You and I, we don’t really do heart to hearts,” Sam shook his head ruefully.  “Honestly,” he marveled, tipping his head in Dean’s direction, “I’m surprised you haven’t spontaneously combusted or something by now.”

As quickly as it came, the moment of flippancy was gone, and Sam was back to staring at Dean so earnestly he felt like he might break out into hives.  “But that’s okay.  We didn’t need the ‘chick flick moments’.  We did things our way.  You gave me a lot of things that I didn’t appreciate nearly enough, I was a ‘bitch’, you were a ‘jerk’ and you…you wore that amulet.”  Sam pointed towards Dean’s clenched fist.  “We didn’t have to talk about what that meant beyond that night I gave it to you instead of Dad.  It just was.”

“And, like I said, it was never something I worried about.  Every time we got into a prank war on the road; after I left for school and we didn’t talk for a while; hell, even after Ruby and the demon blood.  Through _all_ of that, it never _once_ occurred to me that things could ever really _break down_ with you and me.  Because you and I never gave up on each other.  Not for real.”

“But then you threw it away.”  Sam’s voice was stricken, and if Dean wasn’t temporarily speechless, he would have immediately put every Big Brother trick in his repertoire to work in order to get that look off of his Sammy’s face.  It was if a golden retriever had been cast in the all canine version of “A Christmas Carol” as Tiny Tim.  But before Dean could get himself back online enough to attempt some sort of quip to diffuse the situation, Sam was off again.

“So, yes, after you left the hotel room, I took the amulet out of the trash.  And I kept it.  I promised myself I was going to make things right.  I mean, obviously I wanted to stop the Apocalypse and save the world.  But I also wanted to fix things with us.”  Sam looked away, as if embarrassed.  “I guess I hoped that you might be sorry you threw it out and that you would want it back once thing were good again.  Once we were, you know…”  Sam waved his hands vaguely back and forth in the space between himself and Dean.

“But then I jumped into the Pit,” Sam continued.  “And then I was soulless.  And then Leviathan, and Purgatory, and the trials, and the angels, and the Mark, and...”

“And around and around we go,” Dean interjected.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “So, I was waiting for the right time to give it back to you and then I started thinking that maybe there was _never_ going to be a right time.”

“So, you mean you’d decided you never wanted me to have it back?” Dean asked, trying to hide how his heart sank at that news.

“No!  Not at all!” Sam was quick to clarify.  “I just mean…When I first took it, I had this idea in my head, another one of my pictures, right?  Like, what it was going to look like, how we were going to be, when I gave it back.  And we were going to be back just the way were before the trip to Heaven screwed it all up.  Sam and Dean, Apocalypse version 1.0, you know?”

Dean nodded, crossing his arms defensively.  “Yeah, so?”

“Ok, so, that’s not who we are any more.  And,” Sam looked away momentarily and swallowed hard, "maybe we can never get back all of what we had before.  But we’ve been working on things lately.  And we’re in a really good place now.  And I think,” Sam smiled, “I _believe_ that we could be headed somewhere pretty not terrible.”  He shrugged.  “You know, provided we survive the impending pre-Biblical force set on destroying everything.

Both brothers laughed a bit at that.

“Look, Dean.  Cas said that amulet was designed to help find his father.  Bobby told me it would help bring Dad home safe.  I gave it to you because I wanted to make sure _you_ always came home safe.  And I think maybe you wore it because you wanted a reminder that I believed in you. 

Dean didn’t deny it.

“We can’t go back to me desperate to keep someone around to protect me and you just slotting into Dad’s shoes.  Even if we could we shouldn’t.  But I think that the amulet is still worth something.  I think it always was.  And that’s why I kept it.  And, yeah,” Sam admitted with a shrug, “if we’d ever found a moment or two of calm in the shitstorm that is our lives, I would have tried to find the balls to see if maybe you wanted it back.

“I had just decided it didn’t have to be this big epic, picture perfect moment that was hugely symbolic of some fundamental shift in our fraternal relationship,” Sam quirked his left eyebrow to the ceiling with a wry smile and a shake of his head.  “Figures He took that as the cue for a light show.” 

“But yeah,” Sam bounced nervously on the balls of his feet, “so that’s it.  There’s the speech.  I just wanted you to know, so now you do.  And, I mean, you don’t have to, like, start wearing it again or anything.  You don’t really even have to keep it if you don’t want to.  I mean, Chuck kind of proved that if He wants us to find Him, then He’ll help us and if not, so…”  Sam trailed off, eyeing Dean nervously, as if he might be a suspected werewolf at dusk on the night of a full moon.

“Okay,” Dean said agreeably.

“Okay? Sam questioned.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed.  “Okay.  Thanks for sharing.  Anything else you want to get off your chest?  Dean let the Winchester Cocky Bastard ™ grin spread across his face.  “Is there a boy in your class that you have a crush on, Samantha?”

“Ok, fine!” Sam flipped Dean off and turned to leave the kitchen.  “Fuck you too, Dean!”

“Sam, wait!” Dean followed him down the hallway towards their bedrooms, “You didn’t finish telling me what you’re planning to wear to prom!”

Dean’s laughter followed Sam as he turned to open his bedroom door.  But it stopped before he could enter.

“Hey, Sammy?”  Dean asked tentatively.

“ _What_ Dean?”  As Sam turned back toward the hallway, Dean could see that he was surprised to see that Dean had left his own bedroom doorway and was headed down the hallway towards Sam’s room.  By the time Sam registered what was about to happen, Dean was already hugging him.  Granted, Dean’s frequency of hugs other than near-death or post-death hugs was limited, but he thought this one was pretty solid. 

After a few seconds he pulled away with a manly back pat and muttered “’Night, bitch”

Sam’s answering “G’Night, Jerk” followed him back to his own room and into the most restful sleep he’d had since he’d found out about Cas’ possession by Lucifer.

* * *

The next morning, Dean was back in the kitchen, sitting at the table and idly playing with amulet hanging around his neck while his little brother and God discussed how to defeat the Darkness.  The damn necklace was heavier than he remembered, and he had already nearly chipped a tooth on the charm just bending over to tie his boots.  Oh well, some things require a period of re-adjustment, he supposed.  Then again, watching Chuck go to town on the leftover Chinese in their fridge, Dean reckoned there are some things you can never get used to.  And, of course, he thought with a fond glance over at Sam, thumb glancing once more over the amulet, some things never really change.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this piece is actually the first track of "The Dark Side of the Moon (1973)" by Pink Floyd. If you don't know why that's relevant to this story, well then I'm sorry, because you probably didn't enjoy it much.
> 
> If you did enjoy it (or even if you didn't) I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for reading!


End file.
